Zipporah, Wife of Moses

by Marek Halter

“Here is my wife,” Moses said.

  Hatshepsut’s eyelids flickered as a sign of comprehension. She raised her hands a little, and the thick oil on her fingers shimmered. “Wife of Moses, the frankincense comes from Cush! Hatshepsut has been living on frankincense for a long time! Frankincense is Amon’s gift to Hatshepsut. You are Amon’s gift to Moses! But he no longer cares about Amon.” Running out of breath, she opened her mouth wide, and grimaced her silent laugh.

  Horrified by what she was witnessing, nauseous from the smell, her temples throbbing, Zipporah could feel her legs give way beneath her. Stifling a moan, she gripped Moses’ tunic.

  Hatshepsut closed her eyes for a moment to gather her strength. When she opened them again, she looked at Moses. “I know you have returned. Thutmose knows it, too. Go now.”

  Moses nodded. After a brief hesitation, he said a few words in Egyptian. Hatshepsut’s eyes had lost their glimmer of life and seemed identical to those of the statue opposite her.

  AS quickly as he had helped them to enter the palace, Senemiah hurried them out. Lantern in hand, he led them back into the garden.

  Still shaken by the sight of Hatshepsut, her mouth thick from inhaling the fumes of frankincense, Zipporah was relieved to feel the coolness of the night. As Senemiah and Moses walked off into the darkness, she stopped for a brief moment to catch her breath.

  In the blackness, she made out Moses turning to her and heard him whisper: “Zipporah!”

  She rushed to follow him, but Senemiah’s lantern was already too far to light her steps. Forced to advance with caution, to avoid bumping into the bushes and getting the ends of her tunic snagged, she was soon left behind. Rather than getting closer, in a few seconds the halo of light from the lantern had moved farther away, appearing and disappearing between what she imagined to be trees, a vague reference point that confused her more than it guided her. Worried now, she put her hands out in front of her to avoid obstacles. “Moses!” she called in a low voice.

  Moses did not hear her. She touched what she guessed to be a rough tree trunk, moved away from it, and called out in a louder voice. At that moment, much closer than she had imagined, the door leading to the river and the landing opened with a very slight creak. She heard cries. By the light of torches, she saw Moses raising his staff as if ready to fight. Men in leather helmets, armed with spears, surrounded him, hiding him from Zipporah’s view. Senemiah’s voice rose, covering the others. Zipporah heard herself screaming: “Moses! Moses!” Her cry pulled her from the stupor into which the sudden ambush had plunged her.

  She rushed to the door of the garden. She was only a few steps from it when a figure loomed up. She was stopped by a powerful arm, and a hand went over her mouth. She could feel the hardness of the muscles that held her tight against a man’s chest, still soaking with river water. The stranger pulled her unceremoniously into the darkest part of the garden. From the landing came more cries, and torches were waved, casting crazy shadows on the door. Suddenly, the door was closed.

  The garden was again shrouded in darkness. Zipporah, as angry as she was scared, took hold of her attacker’s damp tunic and swung her other hand at him, scratching his shoulder and arm. For what seemed to her a long time, she twisted in vain until she was out of breath and was forced to stop her pointless struggle.

  “Soft now, Zipporah, soft now!” she heard the man whisper in her ear. “I mean you no harm. I’m Joshua. A friend of Aaron. Soft now, calm down!”

  She let go of the tunic, and the stranger loosened his grip and took his hand away from her mouth. “Have no fear, I’m here to help you.”

  She could not see his face and could barely make out his figure, but the voice and the way he had struggled told her that the man must be young. From the other side of the garden wall came cries and the noise of weapons. Orange lights crossed the sky. Joshua took Zipporah by the elbow and tried to pull her away.

  “We have to help Moses and Senemiah,” she protested.

  Joshua again put his hand over her mouth, this time gently, even a little shyly. “Shh! Don’t shout! Follow me . . .”

  He drew her to the wall and led her around to the side of the garden opposite the door. There, he took her hand and put it on what felt like a round step. “This is the base of a statue,” he whispered. “The arms of the statue are solid enough to lean on.” As she placed her foot on the pedestal, he added, “Before you get to the top of the wall, there’s a ledge you can hold on to.”

  Groping her way, Zipporah climbed, vaguely aware that Joshua was climbing up the other side of the statue. When her eyes came level with the top of the wall, she was unable to restrain an exclamation.

  Four large ships formed a semicircle in front of Hatshepsut’s palace, their bows and sterns lit by naphtha torches that glittered on the river. She saw Moses being pushed into a smaller boat by soldiers. When the boat moved off from the landing stage, Moses remained standing.

  Zipporah thought of Hatshepsut’s last words: “I know you have returned. Thutmose knows it, too.”

  Beside her, Joshua groaned, although it could have been a stifled laugh. “That’s Pharaoh’s way of summoning Moses to his palace. At least he knows Moses is a great man. He’s sent four ships and a hundred soldiers to get him.”

  Zipporah turned to him, surprised at how calm he was. In the reflected light of the naphtha flames, she saw his face properly for the first time. He was younger than she was, with candid eyes that had the same coppery glints as his short beard, and a pointed, determined chin. He responded to Zipporah’s surprised look by raising his eyebrows, which made him look even younger.

  “Didn’t you yourself say that Moses has nothing to fear? The Lord Yahweh wants him to appear before Pharaoh.”

  With his chin, Joshua indicated a number of small boats full of soldiers that were escorting the boat in which Moses stood as it headed toward the ships. “That’s all show. Pharaoh’s only trying to impress him.”

  Zipporah did not reply, her eyes drawn by a dark form lying motionless and abandoned on the landing. “Senemiah!”

  There was enough light for the bloodstain on his tunic to be visible.

  “Not so loud. Voices carry on the river.”

  “They’ve killed him.”

  “They had to kill someone,” Joshua replied, without emotion. “Better it should be the Egyptian.”

  “He was Moses’ friend!” Zipporah said, indignantly, shocked by his cynicism.

  Joshua grimaced with embarrassment. “I’m sorry! What I meant was that if the soldiers had got their hands on you, they might have killed you. Pharaoh can’t touch a hair of Moses’ head. But killing his wife would have been a good way to undermine him before he appeared.”

  Zipporah watched the boat in which Moses stood, firmly gripping his staff, as it came alongside one of the ships. With a pang in her heart, Zipporah saw Moses grip the rope ladder hanging against the hull. Whatever Joshua said and whatever she herself asserted, she could not help thinking at that moment that this might be the last time she saw her husband.

  “Look who’s there,” Joshua breathed.

  As the soldiers pulled Moses on board, a familiar figure appeared on deck. “Aaron!”

  He walked up to Moses and threw his arms around him, before the soldiers separated them.

  “The soldiers came to the village at nightfall,” Joshua explained. “They went straight to Yokeved’s house and asked for Aaron. Not Moses—Aaron. They tied his wrists and took him away. I followed them.”

  Orders rang out on the ships. They heard the noise of the heavy oars sliding through the tenons. There was a drumbeat and another cry, and hundreds of oars lifted in unison and plunged into the dark water. Slowly at first, but soon building up momentum, the ships moved out into the middle of the river and headed south. Moses and Aaron were soon out of sight. With the naphtha torches gone, Hatshepsut’s palace was again plunged into darkness.

  “What a strange smell there is here,” Joshua said, wrinkling his nose a
s if he had just noticed it. “What a strange place it is, too. Is this Hatshepsut’s palace?”

  Zipporah said nothing, unable to take her eyes off the ships.

  “Can you swim?” Joshua asked, taking her hand to make sure of her attention.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good. I have a little cane boat over there, downstream of the landing. When I saw the soldiers push Aaron into a boat, I didn’t hesitate. I had to come upstream, but this time it’ll be easier, we just have to follow. There’s no risk—cane boats are so small that at night people think they’re drifting tree trunks. Or crocodiles.”

  “Crocodiles?”

  Joshua gave a little laugh. “Have no fear. There aren’t any around here. Not at this season.”

  “You seem quite merry! Moses is in the hands of Pharaoh’s soldiers and you joke.”

  “Thanks to you,” Joshua replied, with all the enthusiasm of youth. “I listened to you in the village, and I liked what you said. I liked the fact that you showed us how much you trust Moses. And I believe you. Yes, I think you’re right. Moses will accomplish the mission for which Yahweh sent him among us. As for us, our duty is to help him as best we can, not to fear our own shadows. That’s what the old men find hard to understand. But they’ll come around.”

  With a few words and a luminous smile, Joshua had dispelled the sadness and the doubts that had troubled Zipporah since she had seen Moses among Pharaoh’s soldiers. Even Moses’ difficult farewell to Hatshepsut already seemed far away. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, don’t mention it!” Joshua replied, with a little laugh. “What could be better than to know that the world will soon be less unjust?” Already he was squatting on the top of the wall and sliding down the other side. “Come on, we must run now.”

  When they reached the cane boat, Joshua put his hand on Zipporah’s shoulder. “I should tell you,” he said, very seriously this time, “that not everyone in the village thinks like me. Especially as the soldiers took the opportunity to ransack a few houses. One thing you can be sure of—Miriam will be furious.”

  The Scar

  Joshua was right. Miriam’s anger was indeed terrible, as if she hoped single-handedly to equal the wrath of Horeb.

  Zipporah and Joshua reached the village soon after dawn. As they advanced into the warren of alleys, they were greeted by silent, averted faces. When they reached the little square, Zipporah found the elders crouching on mats outside the houses, their lips pursed. Lifting their staffs in their blotched and bony hands, they looked up threateningly when they saw Zipporah and Joshua.

  If Joshua had not given her a friendly push to urge her forward, Zipporah might not have had the courage to go as far as Yokeved’s door. Fortunately, Yokeved greeted her with her usual inexhaustible tenderness.

  “Zipporah, my daughter! You’re back at last. How happy I am!” She kissed her, her laughter tinged with tears. “I have not feared for my sons. But for you, yes. Pharaoh’s soldiers hate the people of Cush. I said to Joshua, ‘Go and see if Zipporah needs you.’ Nobody is more capable and devoted than him—and such a handsome boy!”

  Yokeved was all smiles. She hugged Joshua, making him blush like a red pepper. Then, before even asking what had become of Aaron and Moses, she urged Zipporah to go to her children.

  “Gershom has been as well behaved as a star of the Everlasting. Not a laugh, not a grimace. But Eliezer is asking for you. The poor little prince can’t live without you.”

  As Zipporah was comforting Eliezer, cuddling him and kissing away his tears and laughter, Miriam burst into the room. “Well, daughter of Jethro,” she thundered, “are you happy?”

  Zipporah was so surprised that she sat up abruptly, almost dropping her child.

  “Are you satisfied now?” Miriam went on, the venom of her words reflected in her eyes. “My brothers are in Pharaoh’s jail.”

  The sharpness of the rebuke inflamed Zipporah. She placed Eliezer in Yokeved’s hands. Yokeved gave her a little sign of encouragement, as if to say: “Stay calm, my daughter, stay calm. It’s fear that’s making her talk like this.”

  Although she did not think she was capable of such moderation, Zipporah made an effort to be calm. “You know what I think, Miriam,” she replied, curtly. “Why quarrel about it?”

  “Oh, it’s so easy for you! We are imprisoned, slaughtered, our houses destroyed, but you . . .” Miriam addressed a malicious smile to Joshua, who lowered his eyes. “There’s always some kind soul ready to help you.”

  Zipporah sustained her gaze, but refused to reply.

  “Miriam,” Yokeved intervened, gently, “anxiety is making you unjust, and injustice heals no wounds.”

  Miriam glared at her and seemed about to retort. But she contained herself and merely shrugged her shoulders. Behind her, Zipporah noticed now that the elders had got up from their mats and were standing in the doorway of the room, listening.

  “My husband and Aaron will be back tonight,” she said. “They aren’t in jail; they’re appearing before Pharaoh!”

  “What do you know about it? The Egyptian betrayed them, as I told you he would. You made sure Moses walked into the trap. But you always claim to know more than us!”

  “The Egyptian didn’t betray them, Miriam. He died at the hands of Pharaoh’s soldiers.”

  “It’s true,” Joshua confirmed, his voice almost steady.

  Miriam’s exasperation grew. Her scar throbbed with the strength of an animal. She was so beautiful and so terrible at that moment that Zipporah could not help turning away.

  Clearly, Miriam misunderstood this gesture. Zipporah heard her cry of annoyance, and the rubbing of her sandals on the ground as she rushed out of the room. Zipporah ran after her as far as the doorway of the house.

  “Miriam! Miriam!” she cried out, so angrily that the elders recoiled. “When you see me, Zipporah the Cushite, the adopted daughter of Jethro, you see a stranger. A black woman who isn’t the daughter of Abraham, or Jacob, or Joseph. All of that is true. But I’m not a creature of Pharaoh. I’m not your enemy. I’m your brother’s wife!”

  AT twilight, there rose a great hubbub of voices: Moses and Aaron were back, and the whole village came out to acclaim them. It was quite a while before Moses, half carried by the crowd, reached Yokeved’s house and was able to clasp Zipporah in his arms.

  “I was so afraid for you!” he whispered in her ear, amid the general hubbub.

  “Joshua’s here. He took care of me. But Senemiah . . .”

  “I know. Without hesitating, he threw himself in front of the soldiers’ spears. There was no need. He didn’t understand I wasn’t afraid.”

  “Pharaoh would have killed him anyway.”

  “Alas, Thutmose has turned cruel. He has no remorse. He’s worse than his ancestors.”

  Moses clasped her tighter. By the way his chest heaved, Zipporah grasped that the encounter with Pharaoh had been a failure.

  “It’s terrible,” he murmured, knowing that she had already guessed. “Terrible! What am I going to say to them? They won’t understand. Already Aaron doesn’t understand.”

  Zipporah did not have time to respond with a kiss or a gesture of encouragement. The old and the young, the women and children, the men returning from the building sites, with hollow cheeks and muddy hands and feet, their bodies caked in places with dried blood where the ropes of the hoists and winches, the stakes, and the stones had torn their skin—everyone was there, anxious to hear Moses. They tore him from her arms. “Tell us, Moses, tell us what Pharaoh said!”

  Moses looked at them, his eyes bright, and they, too, knew that the news was bad. The cries faded away.

  “Aaron will tell us,” Moses said. “It was he who spoke to Pharaoh.”

  Aaron told the story, and told it well, without omitting any detail—how they had been dragged before Thutmose’s golden throne, how he, Aaron, had announced the will of Yahweh, and how Pharaoh had replied: “Who is this Yahweh, that I should listen to his voice and releas
e my slaves? I know no king of that name. Nobody can give me orders!”

  He had cried that Moses would be glad to see the Hebrew rabble completely idle. Moses had lost his temper and had threatened Pharaoh with the wrath of Yahweh, the Everlasting, who would punish him with plague and sword if he persisted in his refusal to free the children of Israel.

  Pharaoh had laughed. “I know you, Moses! I know you very well. You were almost my brother. Even when that madwoman Hatshepsut dressed you in gold and called you her son, you were as timid as a sheep. And now you come to me in a slave’s tunic and threaten me? I could die laughing.”

  Much to the outrage of those present—the viziers, the princes, the veiled girls—Moses had climbed the steps to Pharaoh’s throne, seized Thutmose’s wrist, and lifted it above his head.

  “In that case, Thutmose,” he had thundered, “if you don’t fear me, kill me. Raise your whip to me, the whip that has taken so many Hebrew lives! Come, brave Thutmose, wipe me from the surface of the world, since you are its god.”

  Pharaoh had laughed again, with a forced laugh, and ordered his guards to pull Moses away, but forbade them to hurt him. “It suits me to let you live. That way you’ll see the results of the law I shall pass on your people. From tomorrow, those who make bricks will no longer be given straw. Let them go and find it themselves! If they have feet to tread the mud, they also have hands to gather straw. Why can’t they use them? But I want the same number of bricks as yesterday and the day before yesterday. Not one less, or the whip will crack.”

  When Aaron came to the end of his story, the only response was silence and terrified looks.

  THAT night, Moses did not get to bed until late. Zipporah was waiting for him. She took him in her arms and caressed him for a long time. For the first time in her life as a woman, she felt her husband’s tears on her chest.

  “Remember,” she murmured, “remember the words of Yahweh on the mountain of Horeb: ‘I know Pharaoh. He won’t let you go, unless forced by my strong hand. I will stretch out my hand and strike Egypt with all my wonders. And Pharaoh’s heart will harden.’”